Ramble is as it is.

Sometimes if I listen hard enough, I can hear my own heart beating quietly in my chest. I don’t question it or wonder why it keeps going. I just listen to the beat that moves my blood through veins and arteries. It is just something that happens and I realize I do not think of it nearly enough.

In my room of four walls and a door, I can block out the world around me. I forget friends and family and I revel in the solitude. A scented candle burns with memories. Do I allow myself to time to travel down that path. I am a weary time traveler, my mind the portal to the past I have lived and regretted.

There are people, they walk around me like ghosts. I often think of these as shadows of what I was or wanted to be. There are lovers and friends that tried hard to know me, but failed in most attempts. There are the few I have loved, none have loved me back. It is what it is, as I have been told a few times too many.

I used to care more, used to want more from those that came into my life. Those are the ones that have beaten me down with lies and words that mean nothing without an action to back it. I attract those that can’t really love me, but that is a safer life, I suppose.

What is the point of this rant and rave?…fucked if I know. Sometimes the fingers move and the brain disconnects. Maybe, if there were zombies, I would fit right in. Step, step, groan…how apropos.

 

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